


Tiptoes

by Marrilyn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adorable, Cute, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Fluff, Hugs, Neck Kissing, Pouty Rowena
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 23:35:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13891497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marrilyn/pseuds/Marrilyn
Summary: Rowena goes barefoot on a dare.





	Tiptoes

**Author's Note:**

> Had this on my prompt list for a while. Parts of it were inspired by a sort-of roleplay OswinTheStrange and I did recently.

Rowena prided herself in owning the largest collection of high heels you had ever seen. She would spend hours polishing them, and, if they happened to be new, trying them on in front of a mirror every few hours, as if they would disappear if she dared to pay them no attention. Just like an artist cherished their art supplies or an avid reader took care of their books, Rowena adored her shoes. They were her babies, some of her most prized possessions that she took great pride in. Anyone dare mess with them, and there would be hell to pay.

But just like she was proud for her collection, Rowena was also proud of herself. Proud and fiercely independent and stubborn, which proved to be a bad combination when you were trying to prove a point. She was compensating. It had been a simple joke, but Rowena took it to heart, claiming that she wasn't, her tone demanding that you believe her.

You didn't.

The ridiculous discussion ended with you daring her to go barefoot for a week – inside the house, of course. Rowena, never one to admit defeat, readily agreed. Not even you adding a clause forbidding her from using magic to reach things had deterred her. She was going to prove to you that she wasn't compensating for her lack of height and that was final.

Problems arouse the very next morning.

Seated at the island and sipping your coffee, you barely held back a fit of laughter. Rowena stood on her tiptoes, arms outstretched, desperately trying to grab the tea. You'd gotten up a bit earlier than usual and decided to do a bit of redecorating, transferring all tea and potion ingredients to the highest shelf. They used to be on the lowest one for the sole reason that Rowena could reach them – in high heels, for even there, she would have to get up on her tiptoes if she happened to be wearing no shoes.

Rowena propped herself up a tad higher, then jumped up a few times, but no matter how much effort she put into her mission, she couldn't reach the tea. Unable to hold it in anymore, you laughed. She froze for a moment, shoulders tensing. You thought she was going to turn around, shoot you one of her glares that have surely killed before, and give you a stern talking to in that charming accent that gets thicker with every word when she's angry. Instead, she took a breath, purposely loud so that you could hear it, and rose up on her tiptoes again, arm up in the air and grabbing for the shelf.

The harder she tried, the more you laughed; first silently, but as the time went on, your laughter grew louder, more mocking. Rowena in her pajamas, messy haired and barefoot, standing on the tips of her tiny toes was the most adorable sight in the world – comparable only to her pouting face. She was like a child trying to prove they're all grown up and, in doing so, appearing even more childish. She could have easily used a chair as a step stool, but that would wound her pride.

Independent witch Rowena MacLeod didn't need no chair.

After a while, your laughter died down, teasing features fading into a look of pity. Lowering your mug atop the island, you stood up and found your way over to her. She'd stopped jumping, realizing it was futile. Instead, she was looking up at the offending shelf, staring at it as if it were mocking her. She was still on her tiptoes, but her arms were down, hands nervously tapping her thighs.

Without uttering a word, you put your arms around her stomach, gently pulling her back to press her against you. Her frame was small, a perfect fit for your own, her skin warm to the touch. It felt like hugging a kitten rather than a person.

"My little ballerina," you cooed. "So cute."

"I'm not cute," Rowena said defensively.

"Try saying that without standing on your tiptoes and I might buy it."

She let out a huff, but remained standing as she was. She wasn't going to give you the satisfaction.

"Why don't you just stand on a chair?" you asked, solely to tease her.

"I don't need a chair. I can reach it."

"Sure you can."

"Don't make fun of me."

"I'm not."

You were.

"Redecorating was not part of our agreement," she said through clenched teeth, words coming out close to a hiss.

"No rules against it, either," you said.

You couldn't see Rowena's face, but you were willing to bet on your life that she rolled her eyes.

Leaning forward, you pressed a soft kiss to her neck.  "You're adorable, you know that?" Another kiss. "So adorable." Another. "And tiny."

"I am a decent height, thank you very much," she said, raising her head up proudly.

"In Smurfland, maybe."

"Excuse me?!" She sounded completely and utterly offended.

You giggled. "I love you so much, cutie pie."

"I  _hate_  you."

"Of course you do." You kissed her cheek. Then, letting go of her for a moment, you grabbed the tea and held it out for her. "Here."

She frowned at you, suspicious. "And the dare?" The look in her eyes was that of utmost hope.

It almost hurt to crush it. "Oh, it's still going. Consider this a gift for being adorable."

"I hate you!" she repeated with a pout.

You pecked her on the lips, and then on the tip of her nose. "Keep it up, sweetheart. You're so cute when you hate me."

Rowena let you kiss her one more time. Then she snatched the tea and stormed past you. All on the tips of her cute, red-nailed toes.

**Author's Note:**

> Edited by my friend OswinTheStrange.


End file.
